


All But Clear

by Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me



Series: Destiel/ Cockles Shorts [17]
Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awesome Misha, Costume Kink, Episode: s06e15 The French Mistake, Fantasy, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Grumpy Castiel, Grumpy Dean, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Misunderstandings, POV Dean Winchester, TSA Level Orange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-09 20:20:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4362845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me/pseuds/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean and Sam were thrown into that alternate universe full of TV sets and alpacas ... Dean knew they were going to have to recover from a lot of shock. But he wasn't expecting the biggest shock of all to be a little Youtube video called "TSA: Level Orange".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Something New

**Author's Note:**

> This started from a tumblr ask where an anon said their fantasy was to see Dean from "The French Mistake" stumble upon Misha's TSA short. I loved the idea so ... this fic came to be.
> 
> Obviously, this diverges from the canon of the show, but I am still going to try and keep it close to what actually occurred. In any event, it won't match up all the time, so be aware that I'm not trying to stitch the two perfectly together.

           Sam had fallen asleep on his laptop after maxing out the last of “fake him’s” credit cards.

           Dean chuckles as he glances up at his lanky, younger brother– dwarfing the expensive desk beneath his unconscious body. He still can’t believe where they are … that this is _their_ life in some other dimension.

           Dean yawns and rubs his eyes, still feeling a little too full of adrenaline to sleep– even though his body is exhausted. With another groan, he recounts the day– his trailer, the toy helicopter … that crazy video of him apparently in a _soap opera_. A laugh spurts from his throat with the thought. _Dean Winchester:_ talking about amnesia and some chick’s sister’s, brother’s, aunt’s half cousin coming back from the dead. _It’s hilarious._ Although, making out with busty, smokin’ hot chicks all the time wouldn’t be so bad. Then again … _he does alright in their own universe,_ he thinks rather proudly. In any event, the sight of himself on TV started the pesky, curious gears turning in his head and he hasn’t been able to stop them all day. Dean takes another peek at Sam– still out like a light and figures it’s safe. He scoots back up to his own computer, opening the tab that says “Youtube” and searching for his fake self. “Jensen Ackles” is soon typed into the search bar, but not without another snort from Dean at the sound of the ridiculous name.

           “Ackles” he mumbles. “Hey Mr. Ackles” he mocks in a silly voice. “How about a back scratchles, Mr. Ackles?” Dean laughs some more. “Break out of those emotional shackles, Mr. Ackles … you got a mighty large ball sackles, Mr. Ackles.” He’s worked himself into a vibrating fit by now and is pulling his arm across his face to keep from waking Sam. Another moment passes before he finally settles down and returns to his search … erasing the hilarious name and deciding to just to browse around their supposed _show_ instead. Watching himself in love scenes seems like just _too much_ now that he’s thinking about it a little more. Dean’s mouth gapes as thousands of pages come up in the search. “I thought they said we _weren’t_ popular” he grumbles, clicking the “back” button quickly as the wealth of choices overwhelm him. But Youtube has already captured his interests and is now suggesting things on the homepage.

           Dean glances over them– about to close out of the window when something catches his eye. _Cas_ … well, not Cas. _Fake Cas._ _Misha?_ Dean looks closer at the icon for the video. _Yep_ … there it is “Misha Collins: TSA: Level Orange.” It’s almost wrong how giddy Dean suddenly feels at seeing Cas … or Cas’s doppleganger do something … _wear_ something besides that old trenchcoat and a surly scowl. He clicks on the video, making sure the volume is low before it starts to play. The film begins with a young guy– tall … wearing flannel and a large belt buckle, obviously trying too hard to chat up some girl. “Well, that’s not how you do it” Dean mutters, leaning in closer to the screen. Then Ca– _Misha_ comes into view.

           “ _Woah_ …”

           Dean’s breath turns to lead in his throat … there’s his Cas, but _not_ his Cas … dressed up in a nicely fitted uniform, looking all clean and combed and … _nice._ The rest of the room seems to evaporate as Dean dissolves into the video. The young man is crass and annoying, and a little too “southern” for his own good … but when he gets pulled into a small room for a private inspection, Dean can’t help but feel for the guy. After all … he wouldn’t want to remove his belt buckle either in that stupid security line. But then again … he wouldn’t be flying in the first place.

           The video continues playing and the room the young man is sitting in suddenly goes dark. “What the hell?” Dean grumbles, wondering if this is a _ghost-thing_ – still engrossed as ever. Soft music starts to play just as low lighting hums across the screen. Cas walks in … _Misha … Misha_ walks in.

           Dean can’t help but feel more confused as the Misha guy starts asking the young man about his life … just before … before ... _patting him down?_   “Is he– _flirting_ with him?”

           The young man responds– talking about a dead beat dad and a younger brother he had to protect with his life “ _Wait_ …” Dean mumbles harshly.

           The fake-Cas begins to massage the young man’s shoulders, and … the dude looks like he’s _liking_ it. Dean swallows hard, feeling a drop of sweat fall down his temple.

           Fake-Cas moves back to the man’s front, sliding his hands softly over his chest and down … _down, down_ until he reaches that damn belt buckle that started all this.

           “ _Woah_ …” Dean rattles again, not sure what to think anymore.

           Cas pulls him in– _Misha_ … Misha pulls _the young man_ in.

           Dean leans closer with the men on the screen– absent mindedly licking his lips as he gets ready for the inevitable kiss. “They’re really  going to–”

 

 

 

> _“ALL CLEAR!”_

           “Fuck!” Dean barks, throwing up his hands as Cas plays him – _the guy_. That Misha-dick totally _played the guy,_ Dean corrects.

           “Dude … what are you doing?” Sam moans, pulling himself off of the table he was just drooling on.

           Dean pushes the laptop away, turning it more towards himself a second later to make sure Sam can’t see what is on the screen. “Nothing! N–nothing … I _uh_ , stubbed my toe.”

           Sam is apparently too tired to question the obvious lie, instead– yanking himself from his chair to drag his feet all the way to the staircase. “Whatever, man. I’m going to go find an empty bed and sleep in it.”

           Dean rolls his eyes “An _empty_ bed … _sure_ “ he hisses, glancing back to the picture of Sam and Ruby on the mantel.

           “Shut up” is all Sam manages between sleepy steps to the second floor.

           Dean watches him a moment, quickly turning his eyes back to the video just as it nears its end. He watches the young man clutch his boots tightly to his chest– looking longingly past the woman from the beginning of the video– to _Cas_. Or … to _Misha_. Something about the way he’s staring ignites both anger and pity in the pit of Dean’s stomach.

           “Dude … I don’t know what you’re watching, but you better take it into a bedroom because I _never_ want to see that look on your face again.”

           Dean’s head snaps back up to find Sam at the top of the stairs, staring down at him accusingly. “ _What?_ ”

           “Nothin’ man … you just look a little crazed. I think this dimension is getting to you” Sam says with a yawn.

           Dean looks back at the image of Cas– but _not Cas_ , eyes– bluer than ever in his TSA uniform. Dean smiles softly before relaxing into his chair. “Yeah … yeah, man. I think it is.”

* * *

 


	2. Not the Same

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm breaking this work into chapters, so many of you might have already read this part ... but the third chapter is on its way.

           “I truly do not understand your logic, Dean.”

           “What’s there to understand? You suck at playing an FBI agent so we’re going to find you another persona.”

           Castiel stares hard at the side of the man’s face and Dean tries not to flinch beneath the scrutiny. “You _do_ realize that I have no desire to _play pretend_ with you and Sam … if I want information out of some ungodly abomination I will just–“

           “Yeah, _yeah_ … hand on their face– light pouring outta their eyes, _the whole nine._ Got it. Now get in there and try this on.” Dean shoves a package containing a blue, police uniform into the arms of the angel just before opening the door to the dressing room.

           “Is this really how we should be spending our time?” Castiel asks incredulously, still looking at the vacuum sealed package with a too-happy image of a young man wearing the costume on the front.

           “The world is always going to be screwed, Cas … we can’t spend _every_ second worrying about it. Now … get in there!” Dean pushes Castiel inside the small room and then slams the door, turning around to fall back on it as he lets out a breath. It’s been harder than he thought it would be getting Castiel to come here … and the guilt for deceiving the guy is only making him itch all over. He’s not sure _why_ he’s doing this. It’s stupid and he knows it, but ever since they got back from that other dimension, he couldn’t get some of the images out of his head … certain Cas-images especially. And he thinks – if he just _sees_ them again … he could … _well_ , he doesn’t know what he could do, or _would_ do. Not that it matters he supposes. This damn store doesn’t even have a TSA costume, so a cop get-up was the closest substitute; but Dean thinks it just won’t be the same.

           “This costume is very thin” Castiel hisses from the other side of the door.

           “Yeah, those things are _always_ cheaply made. They’re really only intended to last a night.”

           “Then why are we considering it for my alternate persona? Longevity seems like it might be a factor.”

           Dean gapes at that. He knew this Halloween store was a bad idea. They should have gone somewhere else– a real uniform supplier or something. He thinks quickly. “I _uh …_ I just figured you could angel-mojo it if it ripped. I ain’t a millionaire Cas. I can’t afford to deck you out in the finest threads.” He hears the angel grumble as the familiar sound of velcro meets his ear. Dean sighs– he _thinks_ Cas bought it.

           The door of the dressing room soon rattles and Dean moves out of the way so Castiel can push through, and what emerges is nothing short of laughable. The poorly fitting excuse for a shirt is bunching at the angel’s shoulders and is far too short. Dean covers his mouth when he looks the guy over, seeing his belly peeking out from under the blue, frayed hem. The black pants are too tight and the velcro is straining– about to pop open and … _yep_ … there it goes. That’s all it takes for Dean to double over, laughing hysterically at Castiel– almighty, powerful angel of the lord … popping out of every corner of a cheaply made cop suit.

           “Oh man … okay. _No!_ Bad idea. Sorry man. Go change. _Change now!_ ” Dean wheezes, still bent over and bracing himself on his knees. When he finally takes a breath and looks back up, Castiel is in his old clothes and coat, costume neatly packed away– as if it were never opened in the first place. Dean frowns, forgetting for a moment that Cas can always use his powers to just zap everything perfect and normal again in an instant.

           “What is wrong? You told me to change back” Castiel says, handing the costume over to Dean.

           “Yeah … I just … _never mind_. C’mon. Let’s get out of here. This was dumb, I don’t know what I was thinkin’.”

           The two are soon leaving the Halloween store and climbing into the Impala. Dean diligently ignores Castiel’s inquisitive stares and Castiel, resolutely keeps on staring even as they start to drive away. It is another twenty minutes before either of them decides to speak.

           “Why do you seem so agitated now?” the angel inquires, still sitting stoically in the passenger seat.

           “I’m not, man … it’s nothing.”

           “It does not seem like nothing.”

           “Cas! _It’s nothing_ , just drop it alright?”

           Castiel falls silent again and turns to look out the windshield, finally leaving Dean be. But Dean is far from relieved. His mind is still flooded with images of the fake-Cas, his perfectly fitted TSA uniform, his cocky attitude … how he leaned into that other guy … his jaw clenching and _his lips_ … Dean sighs. “Cas … what do you know about other dimensions?”

           “I know much about other dimensions. Why do you ask?” Cas responds calmly, not even looking over as the road stretches out in front of them.

           Dean fidgets behind the wheel, taking a quick peek at the angel before licking his lips. “I _uh …_ I was just curious, like … how much stuff is shared between dimensions? Like … if I do something here, how does it translate over there?”

           This finally inclines the angel to turn towards Dean once more, cocking his head in that typical “Cas-way” and scrunching his eyebrows together. “Are you asking because of your recent stint in that other realm?”

           “No, man … I’m just suddenly _very_ interested in quantum physics. _Yes!_ I want to know why in _that_ dimension we were all actors. Why Sam and I were douches and why you were …” he trails off, not knowing how he would really even describe _Misha._

           “Why I was murdered?”

           Dean’s head snaps to the angel. _That is not what he was going to say._ “No! Well … I mean, _yeah_ that too I guess.” Dean swallows hard, now overtaken with worry that if there _is_ a connective thread between realms, what does that mean for Cas? Is he going to die? He turns back to the road, glowering even more and gripping hard at the steering wheel.

           “Dean …” Castiel begins, adopting his rare, soft tone that only ever seems to appear when Dean is in a mood. “The translation from one world to another is always hazy. There is seemingly _no_ direct link from one self’s actions to another. When God created all worlds, he did so on the foundation of _souls_. Your soul here is the same as your soul there, or your soul in the fairy realm or your soul in the robot realm and so on.”

           “ _Robot realm?_ ” Dean spits, glancing back at the angel to his right– looking as serious as ever. “You’re shittin’ me.”

           Castiel scowls. “I do not _shit,_ Dean. Angels have no need for bowel movements since we do not require food.”

           Dean holds up his hand and shakes his head. “Yeah … okay, _whatever_. Not what I meant. So basically, what you’re saying is that I share my soul with all the other dimensions, but everything else is independent and different from our world here?”

           “Yes. How those worlds adapt and how each individual’s life changes will ultimately affect their outward state, but if you look into their soul … it’s the same.”

           This all takes a moment to sink in– and Dean wonders then if these thoughts he’s having now about Cas are really part of _him_ , or just that world’s affect on his outer self. “Could … could my time in the other world do anything to me … like, my exterior? Could it change anything?” he asks a moment later, hoping for both possible answers at the same time.

           Castiel hums with thought, finally sighing as he turns back to look out the window. “I do not believe that any other world could truly _change_ you; since your soul is the same at it’s core throughout the spectrum of reality, then I feel that you would be able to see the differences in everything else clearly enough to not be deeply affected. The only thing another dimension _could do_ is unlock new facets within your soul that might have been masked or guarded in the realm that you’re accustomed to.”

           “ _Oh_.” Dean wasn’t expecting that answer, and now … he feels a little sick, not knowing what to do with this new information now that it’s in his head.

           “Are you alright, Dean?” Castiel asks, and Dean realizes he’s being stared at again.

           “Yeah … yeah, man. I’m fine” Dean mumbles before reaching down to flick on the radio.

* * *

           He’s woken up by the familiar rustle of clothes and brush of wings. Dean shoots up in the bed, rubbing his eyes as they adjust to the dark. “Cas? What is it? What’s wrong?”

           The image of the angel finally comes into view … but … he doesn’t look like _his_ angel anymore. _He looks like_ … Dean feels his muscles lock up. He looks like _Misha._

           “Cas … what are you … ?”

           The angel steps closer, straightening out the sleeves of his perfectly fitted TSA uniform before looking down at Dean with hard, piercing eyes. “I was curious about your actions today, so I decided to look back over your time in the other dimension.”

           Dean begins to shake, his eyes dropping down the length of Castiel’‘s body – he’s even got on the blue gloves. “ _Shit_ …”

           “I had deduced upon seeing what had occurred there paired with your queries about that place, that this is what you were seeking by going to that costume supply shop.” Castiel stretches out his arms so Dean can get a full display– tight fabric, but not _too_ tight, hugging the strong curves of Cas’s shoulders. The black pants, sitting snugly on his hips … it is _exactly_ the same as the video.

           “I … I .. “

           “But what I do not understand …” Castiel continues, lowering his arms again and looking down at himself. “Is why you would think _this_ would be a good persona for hunts? A TSA official would be highly unlikely at any crime scene– unless that crime scene was in an airport; but that would be rare and I know you avoid such places due to your pointless fear of flying.”

           Dean would argue, but his throat is completely closed and his mouth is a desert as Castiel takes another step towards the bed.

           “Dean? Can you please tell me why this is what you wanted?” Castiel’s eyes narrow on him and Dean’s breath begins to heave in and out of his chest in gusts.

           Castiel tilts his head. “Does this have something to do with your questions about how other dimensions can affect your soul?”

           Dean finally looks away, feeling too sweaty and hot to keep solid eye contact.

           “Dean … is this–” Castiel halts, a blank look crawling over his face as Dean glances back up. He prays the angel is getting a call over his radio or is listening to a prayer or something, because he really can’t handle anymore of this. Castiel lets out a breath a moment later, finally looking Dean over like he did the first time they had met. “ _Oh_. I see.”

           Dean manages to find his voice– even though it’s small and shaky once it meets his ears. “S–see what?”

           An ease moves into Castiel’s eyes just before he disappears, only to zap behind Dean in the bed just a blink later. “ _What the_ –” Dean yelps, but stones when he feels the angel’s hands on his shoulders, squeezing them gently and sliding down his arms. The boxers Dean is wearing are soon horribly tented as he strains against the fabric– _hard_ , wet and ready. He tries to shake his head and regain some sense, but he only falls further into the feeling of Castiel’s fingers moving to his sides– stroking them slightly before dropping down … down to his hips. Dean moans, cutting himself off just as the sound escapes his throat; but it’s apparently all Castiel needed to hear. Dean feels the angel push up against his back, gripping his hips tighter as his lips move to the edge of Dean’s ear, letting it burn and cool with his wet, hot breath.

           “So …” Castiel begins, low and rumbling. “Tell me about yourself …”


	3. Wait ... What?

           “ _Cas_ … “ Dean shuts his eyes and lets the shivers consume him before taking one more, _hopefully_ calming breath. “Cas, you don’t have to—“

           _“Dean_ … role playing is far more effective if both parties are involved” Cas huffs, moving his palms to the small of Dean’s back and pressing hard into the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

           The sweaty, gasping man’s mind is swimming—only allowing for half thoughts to clamor through to the surface of his consciousness. _Sam … Sam is across the room._ Dean squints in the darkness, looking across the rather large space to the bed on the other side. He barely sees the lump that is his baby brother underneath all the cheap, starched blankets. _Fuck …_ how did he even get to this point? Rock hard with a role-playing angel at his back and a sleeping brother only thirty feet away. “Cas … _Sam_ …”

           “ _Is asleep_ , now will you stop fidgeting? This is what you had in mind after all, isn’t it?”

           Dean drops his head down with the slow fall of the angel’s fingers. _It is_ what he had in mind, and he didn’t even realize it. _This_ … his angel, paying attention to him like this … touching him like this—that’s the little part of his soul that was finally uncovered when they got thrown into that freaky alternate reality. Knowing Balthazar … _this_ is probably why he threw them into _that_ reality instead of somewhere else. It could have been the robot world, and he could have had _no_ feelings and he could've come back unscathed. But _no,_ they went to a place where he got to see what his angel would be like if he were truly human. What _he_ would be like without a doomed world to take care of 24/7. _Yes_ … this is what he wanted, and it came down to so much more than a well-fitted uniform and neatly combed hair.

           Dean nods.

           Blue eyes are suddenly staring at him, and Dean jumps; but Cas’s hands are on his chest, rubbing lightly along his collar bone and settling him back down. By then, Dean is dead still as his mouth gapes and he forgets that oxygen is probably necessary right about now. The angel is focused and steady, keeping his gaze on Dean’s with the gradual decent of his hands. His voice rumbles, vibrating the bed beneath them. “I’m going to put two fingers into your waistband now …”

           A cold fire overtakes Dean’s skin as he feels Castiel slip his fingers into the waistband of his boxers—just like he said he would, he wrist sliding against the hard lump of Dean’s cock.

           “I’ll go slow” Castiel assures him, not showing any notice of _anything_ while giving the elastic a slight tug and leaning in close ... the blue in his eyes growing more fierce as his pull gets harder. Dean manages to swallow before finally giving in, feeling as if the draw to his angel’s mouth is magnetic, and he’s just a lowly piece of metal, powerless against the force. His lips feel the warmth of Castiel’s and he drinks in the sweet, heavy breath that’s tumbling off the angel’s tongue. He’s set now … there’s no turning back. He’s going to _kiss_ Cas.

           “ _All clear!”_ Castiel booms, knocking Dean back with his volume and making him yelp in response.

           Dean shakes his head, but as his mind clears, the angel is gone— _just like that;_ the echo of the two, familiar and even _more_ annoying words still hanging in the air.

           “ _What the fuck, Cas?_ ” Dean screams, punching the bed with the side of his fist, wishing it was the angel’s face.

           Sam is there in a second, gun drawn and sleep still tugging at his eyes. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?” he grumbles groggily, but oddly alert.

           Dean freezes, still seething with anger but completely at a loss on how to explain this to his brother. But before he gets the chance to think of an excuse, Castiel appears again—old trenchcoat on and cheap suit, sagging off of his frame as always.

           The angel nods towards the tall Winchester as he blinks at him—confused and more annoyed with the realization that neither of them are in peril. “Sam.”

           “Cas … what the hell is going on here?” Sam asks, finally dropping his gun to his side so he can rub his eyes with his free hand.

           Dean opens his mouth to speak but Cas beats him to it. “Your brother’s odd enthusiasm for pretending was heightened by your time in that other realm, so – I aided him by being his partner in a game of role play.”

           It is all he can do not to tackle the angel to the ground and suffocate him with a pillow, but then his _still_ raging erection wouldn’t be hidden in the safety of the sheets, so Dean remains in his sweat drenched spot on the bed, shaking with anger and pent up adrenaline.

           Sam’s face becomes a strange mix of emotions as he looks between his brother and the angel; first appearing annoyed, then confused, then hysterical, now, seemingly resting on _inquisitive_. “So … you were … _role playing?_ ” he asks slowly, taking a cautious step towards Castiel, who only stares at him harder.

           “Yes, that is what I just said. Your boys’ need for clarification on _everything_ I tell you can get rather irksome.”

           Sam huffs dryly, finally looking over to meet Dean’s eyes, only to find that his gaze is aptly being avoided. “Okay … well, on _that_ note. I’m going to sleep in the car. You two have fun because there is no way in hell I’m going to be in the same room as all …” he circles the nose of the gun around the floor near the bed “… _this_.”

           “No!” Dean yelps, suddenly fearing his brother’s absence. He’s not sure what will happen once Sam is gone—Dean might very well _kill_ Cas, or the angel might get another dick-head idea and play him again, or _worse_ … they might have to talk about their _feelings._ “Don’t do that, Sam!”

           Sam stops mid-turn and shoots his brother with a look. “I hope you’re not going to ask _me_ to join in, Dean” he says wryly. “Not sure how that other reality affected _you_ , but it sure as hell didn’t have as much of an impact on me.” With that, the tall man strides back across the room, grabbing his pillow from the bed and the keys to the Impala off the kitchenette counter. A _click_ and a _slam,_ and then it's just Dean and Cas … _alone,_ and only one erection between them

           Dean drops his face into his hands, groaning loudly. “Cas … what the _actual fuck_ was that all about?” He feels the angel move closer but he doesn’t look up.

           “I’m not sure what you mean, Dean.”

           “The uniform … the … the _touching …_ the flying the fuck off!” Dean finally looks up again, fixing his friend with a glare that usually strikes other supernatural beings still with the fear of death, but it only makes Castiel inch in with curiosity.

           “I was giving you what I thought you wanted, Dean. You don’t usually waste an entire day on something if it’s not what you truly desire. “ Castiel finally breaks eye contact to look down at his shoes, and Dean thinks that just for a moment, the angel appears _worried._ “I – I thought I was doing something that would make you happy.”

           With a blind brush to his own waist, Dean feels that he’s finally softened enough to stand without his arousal being noticed, so he does … moving out from the sheets to finally meet Cas face to face. “Why do you think feeling me up and then bouncing out of here like _that_ would make me happy?”

           Castiel draws his head back, twisting it to the side again before he speaks. “Because that is what the role called for.”

           Dean’s eyes narrow on him. “What? _Yeah_ … in that video maybe; but why would _you_ do it?”

           “What else was I supposed to do, Dean? You are the one with the dream of becoming an actor … I was only assisting in the best way I could. As an angel of the lord, it is not within me to _pretend_ , but I was willing to try it for you.”

           His mouth falls open as confusion flushes his face. Dean glances away a moment, unsure of what to say to that. “Wait … _what?_ Who said I wanted to be an _actor?”_ His head is swimming with the last fifteen minutes, the last day … the last week. _What the fuck is even going on anymore?_

           The angel sighs, finally turning around to sit on the edge of the bed. “I assumed that is what you were trying to tell me today—with your search for costumes and your emphasis on personas … and I have seen how much joy you take in deceiving people with your FBI act. I assumed that maybe your time in that other universe made you realize an _unrealized_ dream. Obviously … such a dream would be hard to live out given your current situation; so I wanted to help, since you seemed to be seeking my help in the matter anyway. Of course, if you had just _asked_ directly and told me _exactly_ what you wanted, we could have avoided all this confusion and both have been better off.”

           “You think …” Dean says after a breath, almost wanting to laugh now that he’s heard the angel’s thought process. “You think I was dragging you into costume shops and asking you all that shit because I wanted … to _act?”_

           “Of course, why else would you behave so irrationally?”

           “Because I want _you!”_ Dean explodes, clamping his mouth shut as he realizes _what_ words just escaped his throat.

           Castiel glares up at him again, rising to his feet and stepping in close. “Me?”

           Dean leans back, looking away and burning with embarrassment.

           “You want _me?_ In what context, Dean … because you already have me.” The words fall off of the angel’s tongue so simply that Dean is certain of their innocence, and that they in no way match what _he_ meant by them.

           He stays silent, hoping that Cas will just fly away like he usually does in these situations once he gets too frustrated or confused enough—but his friend remains, only inches away and assaulting all of Dean’s senses at once. He feels his boxer’s start to tighten again and he seals his eyes closed, shaking his head. _Not now, no … please, not now._

           “Dean? I am already your friend, your guardian … you have said I am like family. I don’t understand in what other way you would have me be part of your life. And moreover, what it has to do with that video where my alternate self nearly kisses another ma—“ Castiel stops, straightening out slightly—giving Dean more space. “Oh … _oh.”_

           This time … Dean knows there is no more confusion, Castiel finally turned to the page he’s on and sees every word that’s written there. He peeks back into blue eyes, feeling his fingers tremble again.

           “You wish … you wish for me to kiss you?” The angel doesn’t move—his tone doesn’t waver, he asked the question as if he were asking Dean how he takes his coffee, and that makes the man even more nervous. “Dean … I can kiss you if you would like me to.”

           The offer is flat enough to make him bark out a laugh and just like that—Dean snaps back, back to _this_ reality; back to _this_ self. He’s the guy who hunts _real_ monsters … he doesn’t pretend to for a camera. He makes out with hot chicks, not dude angels … and _his_ angel in particular is a clueless dork who is just so eager to please that he’ll ignore all human normalcies to see Dean happy. _Fuck_ , this all got out of hand _very_ quickly, and Dean can’t blame anyone but himself. He laughs again, exhausted all of a sudden—so he plops back down on the bed. “Cas … man, you’re not going to kiss me, alright? I think that fucked up world just messed with my head a bit. _I’m sorry_ for confusing you and making you feel like you had to go to all this trouble. I—I just need to sleep this off and get my head straight again.” Dean falls flat onto the sheets, laughing with his own choice of words.

           “Dean … _you don't mean_ ... like I said before, you’re not one to waste time unless it’s something you really desire.”

           Dean sighs, staring up at the water-stained ceiling of the motel room. “Don’t worry about it, man … I was just fucked up in the head.”

           “No, Dean.”

           Dean creases his brow, finally propping himself up on his elbows to stare at his angel—his angel who now looks furious, clenching his fists at his sides. “Cas … what’s wrong?”

           The angel storms towards him and the air whips about the room, making Dean think that the guy might be flapping his wings. Soon, the same air is ringing with the booming echoes of Castiel’s voice. “You don’t waste time on things you don’t want, and _neither do I!”_

           Before he can even gasp, the angel’s body is covering his, and Castiel’s lips are coming down onto Dean’s. The kiss is hard and forceful, and completely one sided as Dean lies there, stone still beneath his friend.

           Castiel finally pulls away, still looking angry—but now, flush and panting. “Dean, _kissing_ usually is more effective when both parties are involved.”

           Dean searches the angel’s eyes for doubt – for uncertainty, for hesitation in what he’s doing, but all he finds are wide, dark pupils and divine fury that both terrifies him and turns him on like nothing else in the world. Dean shoots up, locking his arms around Castiel’s neck as he brings their mouths together again, licking between the angel’s lips and tasting for the first time, the subtly sweet hints lingering on his guardian's tongue. Dean pulls Cas in harder, feeling his body melt and his shell dissolve for the first time in maybe _years._ Hands slide along his sides and up underneath his shoulders, holding him firm and close, and Dean loses himself, kissing and grabbing and melding closer and closer with every breath.

 _Lord knows_ how many minutes passed by before Dean finally opened his eyes again, wanting to see how wrecked his angel had to be, given how wrecked _he is_. Only, when he does, his gaze doesn’t fall on messy hair and ill-fitting clothes—but on blue, tight fabric and yellow embroidered letters.

           With the sight of the sly grin playing on Castiel’s face, Dean heats up again, looking over his angel’s uniform, magically on him once more and doing _everything_ right as far as he’s concerned. “Cas?” Dean asks, finding that he’s grinning too but he's still not sure if his friend _really_ understands what he’s hoping will happen next ... or if _he_ even understands it.

           Castiel rears up, staring down at Dean hungrily before licking his lips. “It seems …” he rumbles, low and steady and Dean shivers, feeling lightheaded as all the blood in his body rushes south. Cas’s smile widens, as if he knows _exactly_ what this outfit and his voice are doing to the man, and perhaps … _he does._ The angel continues, “It seems ... that you’re in need of a _private pat down._ ”

 


	4. Keeping Up Appearances

            It’s times like these that Dean really wishes he could shut off those hyper aware senses of his—the ones that make him see every movement in a room; or in this case, every movement just outside the thinly curtained window. Even as Cas pushes his body into the mattress, making delicious sounds just above him, Dean can’t help but focus on the dark slope of the Impala outside, and the fidgeting lump of his baby brother jostling around its interior. As wonderful as it feels to have his angel dragging strangely delicate hands across his chest, Dean just can’t seem to turn off his brain; and he feels a pang of guilt for inadvertently making Sam sleep out in the car.

            “Cas … _Sam_ …” Dean whispers, mimicking his worried tone from earlier.

             The angel rears up, eyeing him angrily. “He is in the car, Dean. He’s fine … unless he was correct in his assumption that you wanted him to join in on this, in which case, I must tell you—that makes me _very_ uncomfortable.”

            “What?” Dean yelps, eyes tearing away from the window at the end of the room. “ _Ew_ , gross! No!” He finally wriggles out from under Cas’s fingers, pulling himself up so he can try to assert some seriousness, even though his menacing dick is still desperately wanting to play. Dean grits his teeth and breathes through his nose, letting the rushing blood settle after another moment. “I just don’t want him sleeping out there while we … do all _this._ ”

            Castiel rolls his eyes and finally retracts his hands from gracing Dean’s nipple. Dean suppresses a whine. “So, you _do_ want him in here?”

            The horribly wrecked man groans, wishing his sexed up brain could actually make sense right now; but then again, the angel rarely gets things on the first try, _raging hard-ons or not_. “No … well, _yes._ I mean …” he finally slides completely out from under Castiel’s uniformed body and scurries to set his feet on the floor. “I mean, can you mojo him back in here—to _his_ bed, and then mojo us somewhere else? Maybe he’ll wake up and think this was all a weird dream or something.”

            Castiel slides his leg off the bed and pushes himself up in one fluid movement, and Dean thinks the guy’s wings might have helped him a bit—his cock twitches again. Apparently, Dean has a wing kink. _Awesome._ Cas opens his mouth to speak, but quickly closes it with a sigh, reaching up to rest two fingers on the man’s forehead. Before he can even make a sound, Dean finds that everything in his periphery is different now. No more peeling paint on the walls. No more mystery stains on the carpet. In fact—everything around him is pristine and clean, and the air even smells slightly of cinnamon. It smells oddly— _familiar._

            “Cas … _where_ did you zap us?” he asks, being answered instantly by the sight of a toy helicopter and giant fish tank when he turns around to inspect where they are.

            “You seemed fond of this place when you were last here, and it is very, _very_ far away from Sam. I thought it might be appropriate for what we are trying to do.”

            Dean turns back to eye his angel. “And … what is it _exactly_ that we’re trying to do?”

            Castiel rolls his eyes again, huffing before whipping around to stomp toward the small bedroom in the back of the trailer. “Are we _still_ confused about all this, Dean? I thought we were at an understanding when in the motel room. I want to kiss you, you want to kiss me. In human custom, that usually leads to nudity and then intercourse.”

            Dean’s face rushes white with his friend’s blunt summary. “Cas, man … you’re such a sweet-talker” he sputters, trying to diffuse his own nerves with humor.

            “Yes, _well_ … my garrison had always told me I had a way with words.”

            Dean begins to laugh but stops when the angel turns to glare at him.

            “Are you going to join me on the bed, or do I have to use my divine ability to move you here myself?”

            A small, _hopefully silent_ moan escapes Dean’s lips with the thought of being man handled by the angel’s unearthly powers. For a moment, he remains still—curiously hoping Cas will make good on his threat, but impatience soon pulls him forward, feet rushing towards the angel—smashing their bodies together with frenzied hands and tongues rounding out the chaos.

            They fall back, fingers pulling at clothes—Castiel’s more forcefully than Dean’s considering Dean still wants to revel in the flattering lines of the TSA uniform. The angel flips them over, straddling the man’s waist while more air rushes about the room. With no effort at all, he lifts Dean half way up and peels off the light gray t-shirt he’d been sleeping in—blue eyes shaking as they look over the newly revealed, smooth, freckled chest.

            More air rushes by Dean’s ears and he looks around to see the photos on the trailer’s walls shutter with the flurry. “Are … are you flapping your wings?” Dean asks, feeling his cheeks heat up as his cock presses hard against the angel seated on top of him.

            Castiel makes no indication of noticing—his face stern as ever, the only difference being his hugely dilated eyes. “Yes. It’s an involuntary reaction when I …” his voice trails off before he bends down to kiss Dean’s plump, wet lips. “It happens when something excites me.”

            A blossom of pride blooms in Dean’s stomach, squelching the uncertainty and nerves that have been twisting his gut since this whole crazy thing began. “ _So_ … I am getting you all excited, _huh?_ ” he asks playfully, feeling that old, suave “Dean Winchester” creep back into his voice.

            “It appears that way, yes” Castiel responds stoically.

            The pride drains away a little. “Well don’t sound so happy about it!” Dean grits out, deciding that his hands should be doing something, so he lifts them to drag up the angel’s sides.

            “I _am_ happy, Dean. I just—“ Cas reaches down and stops Dean’s palms from skirting along his ribs. “I’m just unsure of what to do next.”

            Dean begins to laugh, but simmers when he realizes, he has _no clue_ either. He stares blankly back into his friend’s eyes, watching the pupils shrink down again and that old, heartbreaking worry swim back into the blue. “Yeah … _uh,_ I dunno, man. I mean—I can’t say that this is chartered territory for me.”

            “At least you have been intimate before” Cas retorts, looking away shyly. He slides off of Dean with a _thump_ —far less graceful than the last time.

            Guilt fills Dean up and it’s almost comforting. In the rush of emotions he’s been feeling lately, guilt is the most familiar. But that look on Cas’s face is familiar too, and it’s not comforting at all. “Cas … _c’mon_. It’s alright, We’re both new to this, and _believe me_ , I’m just as freaked out as you are. I’m used to some things up …” he lifts his fingers to gesture towards Castiel’s chest, “to things up in this general area … and lace, and sticky lipstick and too much perfume.” He let’s his eyes fall over the hard lines of Castiel’s arms. “Muscle and stubble and …” Dean breathes in, loving the scent of the angel—quietly admitting that this isn’t the _first_ time he’s drowned in the smell. “and _you_ … well, that’s all new and it’s scary as hell.”

            Castiel looks at him—face more worried than ever. “We should _not_ be doing this, Dean … not if it frightens you more than hell did.”

            The laugh erupts, shocking the stilled air around the trailer. Dean covers his face with his sweaty palm, rubbing it down and shaking his head with the last bits of his humor. “No, man … that’s _not_ what I meant, okay? This is definitely not like hell—not even close.” He smiles as he sees the angel’s shoulders relax, and those blue eyes soften like they always seem to do for him. “I mean … I don’t know if it’s like _heaven_ either, but in light of recent events, maybe that’s a good thing.”

            Castiel frowns, his mind obviously racing back to the state of his old home and what kind of havoc Raphael might be wreaking.

            Dean begins mentally kicking himself for the reminder of heaven’s sorry state. _Smooth, Winchester._ With slightly assured fingers, he reaches out and pulls at Cas’s chin, making his friend meet his eyes once more. “I don’t know what this is, and I may not know what we’re doing or what will happen afterwards, but I _do_ know … I _want_ it to happen, and this is the best I’ve felt in a while.”

            The angel’s face warms and he scoots in closer to Dean’s side, letting his voice dip low and rumble through his bones. “Well, how do you suggest we proceed?”

            Dean swallows. _Yeah, he definitely knows what his voice is doing._ “Um …” He leans back, looking over his friend, still perfectly cut in the blue shirt and dark pants. “Well, we could pick up where we left off on that whole role playing thing.”

            Castiel's face twists in confusion. “You want me to leave while you stare at me longingly?”

            It’s Dean’s turn to roll his eyes. “No, you idiot. I don’t want to follow the video … I want to make use of this fucking uniform.”

            The angel looks down at himself, seeming surprised that he’s still wearing something other than that old trench. “I am not sure how you can make use of these clothes, Dean. I don’t think they would fit you.”

            “Jesus Christ, Cas … you really don’t know anything about turn ons, do you?” The puzzled look he gets in response is a clear answer to his question. Dean sighs. “You look hot in that uniform … like, _you look good_. It fits you well and it makes your eyes—” Dean clears his throat. “They look really blue … and _shit._ I just really, _really_ like seeing you in it.”

            “So …” Castiel cocks his head to the side before lowering it a smiling in understanding. “So, this uniform gets you aroused?”

            Dean groans, falling back on the bed. “Yes, man … but we really need to work on your _sexy talk_. You’re far too clinical.” A rush of air brushes over his skin, and soon, Dean finds himself shivering. He looks down to see his completely naked body sprawled out across the bed—and Castiel, looming just at the foot. “What the hell, Cas!” Dean yelps, helplessly trying to cover himself. He of course, kind of _hoped_ he would be naked at some point, but not so quickly, and not at the whim of heavenly grace—he feels far too exposed now.

            “Do you want to know what gets me aroused, Dean?”

            Dean’s frantic attempts to be less nude slow with the deep, gritted sounds of the angel’s voice. He peeks up at him—tall, blue, nearly glowing. Dean nods softly.

            Castiel bends down, slinking onto the bed and over Dean’s body—hot breath tickling all of the man’s soft, sensitive areas. “Seeing you, _bare_ … _open_. I’ve suppressed this feeling every time I’ve watched over you—all the times you have changed your clothes, showered … unaware that I was near. All I wanted was to touch you, to see how your skin would feel beneath my fingertips. How your touch would make my grace sing beneath this form. I never allowed myself to give in—I tried to believe that it was just the remnants of human will and desire still left in this vessel. But somewhere deep down, I knew …” Castiel lowers himself, letting his body drag along Dean’s naked skin—letting his lips slip along his jaw. “I knew I was lying to myself. I wanted you, Dean. I _still_ want you.”

            All of his concerns melt away with the touch of his angel—eyes glazed over with his words and the hypnotic tones of his voice. Dean’s mind seems to have tucked itself into the corner of his skull, letting only his want speak—and maybe a bit of his heart too. “If you want me, Cas … then you have me.”

             It only takes a minute before the apparently clueless angel learns _exactly_ what makes Dean jump and moan across the mattress. Castiel had lowered himself, licking the bud of the man’s nipple, sucking it between his teeth just before his hand sunk between Dean’s legs. Apart from the stubble and the gruff breaths erupting from Cas’s throat, Dean didn’t think it felt too different from what he knew before—but then again, it was different in every way. Because now, he wasn’t just feeling it through his skin … something deeper was vibrating with every stroke of the angel’s fingers. If Dean didn’t know any better, he would think he was feeling this in his soul.

            Castiel’s movements soften, somehow certain and unsure all at once. He certainly doesn’t know what he’s doing in the half jerked way he’s cupping Dean’s cock, but _damn_ , if it doesn’t feel amazing.

            "Dean … is this alright?”

            “Fuck! God, _yes!_ ” Dean moans, reaching down to guide Cas’s fingers around his shaft—knowing that a helping hand would be appreciated by the angel, even though Dean is eager to see how he would approach it all on his own. “Just … just keep it fluid, don’t start and stop” he whispers, looking across his own heaving chest to see his heavenly TSA agent nod in understanding.

            Castiel’s grip tightens and he begins to move his hand more quickly, smiling as Dean arches on the bed. “Yes … you seem to be enjoying this.”

            Dean bites his lip, squinting his eyes while gripping at the sheets. “ _Yeah_ … you could say that” he breathes, knowing that his release isn’t that far off, making him wonder just when he regressed back into a fourteen year old boy. Cas’s pleased expression makes him look cocky—and far too much like Misha. Dean moans again. “Just wait until I get my hands on you!”

            His friend’s strokes falter just as Dean begins to come—the thought of touching Cas doing even more than the reality of _being_ touched. The angel jumps back with each spurt, eventually falling off the edge of the mattress with a _thud_. Dean barely notices, but when he’s finally aware that he’s alone on the bed, he tries to sit up to see if the guy is alright; but his body is still jerking and twitching with the remnants of his orgasm. “ _Fuck_ , Cas …” he whines, wheezing as he looks over the creamy mess. “What happened?”

            “What did I do to you?” the angel yelps, complete terror destroying his face.

            Dean gapes, finally settling—looking between his spent dick and the paled angel on the floor. Then, _he laughs_ … he laughs harder. Soon, he’s gasping and tossing about the bed, clutching his stomach, not mindful of the stick that’s coating it. “Seriously?” he sputters, trying to calm down, but he just _can’t_.

            Castiel scrambles to his feet and soon, the small room is whistling with the rush of wind and the stinging annoyance that seems to be seeping out of the angel’s fingertips. “I—I did not know that …”

            “You didn’t know that _that’s_ what happened?” Dean chuckles, nodding down at his own, messy waist; but calming quickly with the terrifying and, albeit _sexy_ sight of the angry angel.

            “No, I did not know that the human body essentially _exploded_ upon climax.”

            Dean is gone again, curling into himself with his fits of laughter. “What did you think happened, man?” he wheezes. “That sunshine and butterflies and bunnies would appear?”

            The angel’s jaw clenches just before snapping his fingers.

            Dean no sooner finds himself sputtering in the streams of a cold shower. “Fuck! _Fuck_ … what the fuck!” he squawks, stumbling out of the trailer’s tiny bathroom and into a sopping, wet heap against the narrow hall. He glares back at the still uniformed angel standing smugly in the opening to the bedroom. “Dude! _Not cool!”_

            “Neither is laughing at my ignorance to human nature” Castiel sips coolly.

            Dean straightens out, quickly reaching into the bathroom and grabbing a towel from the rail. “ _Whatever_ dude … you’re the supposed _all-knowing_ being here. Color me shocked that you didn’t know about the birds and the bees!”

            “I know how reproduction works, Dean—as in … I know about the inner workings and the general processes. I just didn’t realize …” Castiel straightens the buttons on his shirt awkwardly. “I just did not think there would be so much _force_ behind it. It was startling.”

            Something inside Dean’s chest twists, making him soften all over, even though he’s still shivering from that damn, icy water. He stalks towards the bed, still playing up frustration that is no longer there—knowing that _Dean Winchester needs to keep up appearances._ With a plop, he sits back on the mattress, letting the towel cover his horribly shrunken parts, feeling that the sight of them might take away from his apparent surliness. “Well, man … that happens sometimes—when things are really … _good.”_

            Castiel watches him wearily. “Good?”

            “Yes … when someone does something right, and it feels really good … well, your body just sort of goes crazy.”

            The angel shifts awkwardly—an uneasiness that looks foreign in that tidy, stiff uniform. “So … I—I did good, then?”

            Dean grins wide, finally letting go of his fake anger so he can reach out and yank his friend back to his side. With a soft kiss, he lets his other hand fit into the curve of Cas’s neck, soaking up the heat and every single twitch of the angel’s eager skin. “Yeah, Cas. You did _awesome_.” They kiss again, a little deeper this time—and now accompanied by Castiel’s possessive fingers. Dean crumbles with their touch, feeling his body ignite all over once more. “Now … let me return the favor.”

 


	5. You Should Know

            He takes his time. Lord knows, he doesn’t want to rush _this_ —and the fact that he’s all nice and relaxed thanks to his angel’s efforts means he has more patience to give it all back. Dean pulls himself upright, still dangling from Cas’s lips, not wanting to let go; but finally doing so when it starts to impeded his work. As he stands back up, he looks down at his friend, sitting timidly on the edge of the bed—looking incredibly sexy in his uniform, but also looking scared around the edges of his eyes; all while thrumming with a powerful energy that’s causing Dean’s ears to pop. It makes him want to reach out and touch, but scared to all at once. It makes him want to hold him, show him that he can protect him—while also wanting to _be_ held, _be_ protected himself. It’s confusing and strange, and Dean can’t get anything straight in his head … except that he doesn’t want this to end. The world needs to pause so he can spend forever with this; forever to just figure this out, because Castiel is a sublime state of confusion and Dean _loves_ being so lost.

            “Should I be nude as well?” Castiel asks, after Dean’s silent observations stretch on too long.

            The question is enough to scare him conscious again. “What? _No!_ Don’t you dare take that off!” Dean yelps, reaching out quickly to press his fingers into the blue fabric of Cas’s shirt. His hand begins to shiver against the angel’s chest. “I mean … if … if anyone is going to take it off of you, it’s going to be me … and I’m gonna do it nice and slow.” He wanted the words to sound confident, but _he_ could even hear the squeak in his voice. Dean closes his eyes and quietly chastises himself. But, when he opens them again—he finds nothing but a shaking, scared angel in a costume awaiting his next move. “ _Woah_ … what’s wrong? We don’t have to do anything else if you don’t want to, Cas. I don’t want to freak you out.”

            Castiel looks down at Dean’s hand still touching lightly on his collarbone. He pulls his own fingers up and runs them along Dean’s, as if only just noticing the man’s hand to be real—to be _there_ , to be close enough to grasp. “I want to do this, Dean … I am just nervous.”

            Dean smiles, warmth rushing over him and simmering his own concern. “I would be weirded out if you weren’t, buddy, but I’m right here. I got you.” He’s taken aback when Castiel rolls his eyes at his kind gesture.

            “I highly doubt that. It will be hard for you to _get me_ if your body is obliterated.”

            His face pinches in shocked confusion as he pulls his hand away and twists upright again. “ _What?”_

            _Another angelic eye roll_ —as if this turn in the conversation was obvious from a mile away. “If your body does _that_ when it reaches climax—what will mine do?”

            Dean’s face is still screwed up when he finally shrugs. “I dunno … it’s a human vessel, it should do the same thing as mine, shouldn’t it?” he says in exasperation.

            “Your body isn’t containing a celestial being that has the ability to decimate half a continent with a simple shout.”

            Dean gapes. _He hadn’t thought of that._ “So … you’re worried that if you get your rocks off, you’ll blow up the world?”

            Castiel squints at him, looking Dean over like he’s _never_ seen a bigger idiot. “Not the _whole world_ , Dean. I’m not an archangel … just a quarter of it.”

            “Oh, _well then!”_ Dean spits sarcastically, reaching up to rub his hands over his face. This is the oddest _sexy time_ he’s ever had—especially since there’s been _very little_ actual _sex_ during it all. He groans loudly before dropping his hands back to his sides, realizing a bit too late that he’s standing here—still stark naked, trying to talk down an angel that could kill a portion of the world’s population with his jizz. “Look, _man._ I don’t know how your vessel … or _you_ will react, but I know for certain that you won’t blow up the planet.

            “A _quarter_ of the planet”

            “ _Whatever!_ You’re not gonna to do it!” Dean barks, throwing his arms into the air with his bursting frustration.

            Cas sits up straighter, tilting his head as he looks Dean over. “How can you be so certain, Dean? You don’t know how angelic power works. It’s _very_ strong—it can be devastating.”

            Dean sighs, looking up to the ceiling of the trailer—asking God, Buddah … _whoever_ to give him the strength not to strangle his angel before he gets the chance to satisfy him. “Cas … buddy, I may not know _shit_ about angelic power, but I know _you_. You’ll control it.”

            “You don’t know th—”

            Dean cuts Castiel off—shooting forward to kiss him. “ _I do_ … I do know that. You _will_ control it.”

            Cas shuffles atop the sheets, looking down at Dean’s lips as they pull away again. “You trust me enough to chance it?”

            Dean laughs, pushing the angel back, making him scoot towards the headboard as he climbs up over him. “Cas, I trust you with myself, with my car, with _Sam_ … _obviously_ , I trust you with the world.”

            “But those—”

            Dean silences him again with another kiss, running a hand up the angel’s side—sinking into the feeling of firm muscle beneath his fingertips. When he draws away once more, he smiles—knowing that Cas is finally giving in, if the slight quirk of his still puckered lips is anything to go by. “ _Okay then_ … now that you’re quiet, _stay that way_ —well … until I give you reason _not_ to be.”

            The concern seeps back into his friend’s eyes but this time, Dean chooses to ignore it, instead, letting his obvious upper hand in all this fuel him through the fact that he still has no fucking clue what he’s doing. He sits up, legs on either side of Cas’s hips, hands traveling over the seam’s of the uniform, eyes—slowly dragging behind as they take it all in. He takes his time, memorizing each ridge and bump of the angel’s body until he’s barely even shaking anymore—hands steady enough to loosen the black tie that’s pushed up around Castiel’s neck. The knot comes apart just as easily as Dean did—finally giving way enough for him to slide it from the collar of the blue shirt and up over his friend’s head. With it untied, Dean lifts it and drapes it around his own neck—feeling somehow more in control with even just a shred of fabric on him. The act however, although small, seems to ignite the angel—eyes widening, and lips being smoothed down by an eager tongue. Cas’s hands reach up and grab the loose ends of the tie—yanking Dean back to his mouth with a bit too much force. Their teeth clash and he’s pretty sure his lip might be bleeding now, but Dean can hardly care, because his worn out cock just got an electric shock.

            “ _Fuck_ … Cas, what—?”

            “I seem to like it when you wear my things … I believe it’s what you would call a _turn on”_ Cas growls through his teeth, pulling Dean in again for another, hungry kiss.

            If the angel would allow him, Dean would rear back once more to make room for some witty comment, but there’s no hope of that and for once, he _really_ could give a shit about having the last word. Instead, he drops further into Castiel’s mouth—falling victim to his friend’s ruthless tongue for what seems like the millionth time. Minutes pass, or it could have been hours— _days_ , _years_ … Dean doesn’t care, not until the angel pushes him back—nothing but wild eyes and even wilder hair, panting ragged breaths passed swollen, inviting lips.

            “Weren’t you going to undress me? These pants are rather … _restricting_.”

            If his tongue weren’t practically hanging out of his mouth at the sight of Castiel—looking sex crazed and eager, Dean probably would have swallowed it with the angel’s words. “I … I … _uh …”_ His tongue is also doing little for speech.He thinks at one point he had the upper hand, but really—he’s just being crushed in Castiel’s. “I—I should do that, _huh_?” he finally clamors out.

            “Unless you have a telekinetic way of moving forward, than _yes_ , I believe you should.”

            Dean swallows the lump in his throat and nods—knowing that the sweat on his brow is becoming more visible. He closes his eyes and swallows again—still nodding, but this time, for himself. _You can do this—it’s Cas. You like Cas. You really fucking like Cas. Some different anatomy doesn’t mean shit … you like him._ Dean’s eyes burst wide as he looks over the angel squirming between his legs—getting more frustrated with every second that he wastes. _Fuck … I really like Cas._ The admission is terrifying in a whole new way, sending another pulsing mass into Dean’s throat, and he’s pretty sure it’s his heart. But before he can think enough to choke it down again, he realizes, he’s sinking back—bringing himself eye to fly with the zipper of Cas’s pants. Dean is even more shocked when he watches his own hands move to the button and begin releasing it from its loop. “What the hell?” he mumbles as his fingers unzip the angel and then move back up to yank at the black fabric, freeing it from Cas’s hips.

            “I thought you might need some assistance” Cas says breathlessly, already letting the excitement of exposed skin nibble at his composure.

            Dean’s eyes snap up to glare at his crazed friend. “What the fuck, Cas? You’re _controlling_ me?”

            “ _Assisting_ you. There’s a difference” Cas groans, twitching his head forward—making Dean’s arms pull his pants down to his knees.

            Dean gapes, not even sure of what to say—and even more shocked when he looks down to see the angel’s tented boxers. Anger rushes through him, bringing some sense as well as some well needed words back to his mind. “You can’t just _control_ someone all the way through sex, Cas! That’s messed up!”

            “I wasn’t …” Castiel pauses, the muscles in his face relaxing and suddenly, Dean’s arms are his own again—he retracts them as he sits back up, folding them tightly across his chest to hopefully keep them there. Castiel sighs and pushes himself onto his elbows so he can get a better look at the angry man on top of him. “My apologies, Dean. I just—I saw that look in your eye.”

            “What look?” Dean barks—now fuming … his erection, dead and buried.

            Cas reddens a little and turns his head away, giving himself all the appeal of a beaten puppy. “That _panicked_ look … the one you get just before you leave. That’s the way you look before you go get drunk and find some random woman to spend the night with … I just thought …”

            Dean’s arms relax slightly as a pang of guilt twitches in his gut. “Thought what?” he says, more softly now than before.

            “I just thought that if I did not hurry – you would want to leave and I would have missed my chance. This is my only chance to have you, after all.”

            His hands finally fall to his sides as he leans forward a little, wanting to kiss Castiel again—even though he’s still a little pissed. “Who said this was your _only_ chance?”

            The angel still won’t look at him—finally adopting one of Dean’s mannerisms and shrugging. The action is positively adorable when exhibited by a being that could kill him without thinking.

            “ _Cas_ …” Dean’s laughing and he’s not even sure why, but he’s practically delirious now from the past few hours—the confusion, the back and forth. He’s a walking, talking, sex-having sitcom and he’s not too blind to see it. “Man, I don’t know if you’ve noticed … but I don’t normally do this with dudes.”

            Castiel finally turns his way—squinting his eyes in confusion. “Of course I’ve noticed. I’ve been observing you for years, remember?”

            “Yeah … _that’s still_ not creepy at all” Dean huffs, closing his eyes and shaking his head before scooting further up the angel’s body. “The point _is_ , I don’t sleep with guys. I’ve never really even _looked_ at a guy … I mean, _I have_ but— _well_ , I’m not getting into that. _Anyway,_ I haven’t ever wanted to act on anything or do anything with anyone who had all the same _big-boy_ parts as I do … but then _you_ showed up.” He focuses again on Castiel’s eyes, finding all the peace and confirmation that he needed—right there, just like always. “You might _just_ be getting this chance now, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t always had it.” Dean leans down and kisses his angel one more time, hoping that it hammers this point home. “I wish your hand had never left my shoulder.”

            Firm fingers slip behind his neck and tug him down—lips on lips, not rough, but not gentle either, just needy and full of a desperation that has built up over the years. But this time, _Dean_ stopped them mid way through, pulling back and sliding off Castiel to lie tightly against his side—causing the angel to whimper at the loss of the other tongue. Dean can only smile and nuzzle his face behind his friend’s ear, sighing deeply as he let’s his hand slip down Cas’s stomach.

            “You gotta let me drive this time” he whispers, gasping a little as his fingertips meet the hem of the guy’s boxers.

            “You _do_ enjoy driving, don’t you?” the angel asks—his chest heaving so hard, it’s forcing Dean’s arm up, making him have to scoot down lower just to manage what he’s trying to do.

            “Yeah … Baby, _you …_ I’m better when I’m behind the wheel.”

            “Are you equating me with your car, Dean?”

            “You’re both long, dark and like it when I touch you … so, _yeah_. "

            Castiel chuckles breathily as Dean starts to inch his fingers beneath the tightened fabric. “The Impala isn’t alive—it is not capable of enjoying _touch_.”

            “Don’t you let her hear ya say that” Dean hisses, turning his head to bite playfully at Cas’s ear.

            “It is also not capable of absorbing and comprehending sound.” The angel’s words are shaking now, and his body is twitching with each flick of Dean’s tongue.

            “Do you really want to argue about the capabilities of my car right now, Cas?” Dean asks, finally letting his palm scrap along rough hair as his fingers graze his friend’s rigid shaft.

            “Not even a little” Castiel breathes, back arching as Dean grips him hard.

            “ _Good_.” The angel’s reaction is all the confidence he needs—pumping his body full of adrenaline, making Dean prop up so he can get a better angle—and also so he can watch Castiel’s face as he starts to stroke him. _It’s beautiful_ … the blue, shrinking and growing as the angel’s eyes dilate. The way his lips part and how his throat tightens each time Dean moves his thumb over the tip. His jaw twitches with every pass, and Dean can feel the vibrations of something all throughout the angel’s body. _Is that his grace?_ he wonders quietly, shocked when Castiel’s skin heats up to near searing levels. “Damn, Cas … cool it … _literally!_ ” he yelps, pulling back his hand and shaking it out.

            Casitel’s panicked eyes blare against all his reddened skin. “I’m sorry … I still am getting used to these … feelings.”

            Dean laughs as he gives his friend’s flesh a few precautionary touches when the color finally starts to return to normal. “Well … just watch the temperature … and the _blowing-up-the-world_ thing. Otherwise, we should be good.”

            Castiel nods at him, fists—balled in the sheets, stalk still, like he’s just barely holding himself together.

            Dean sighs. “I would tell you to relax, but—I know you won’t.”

            The angel shakes his head.

            Dean smiles and returns his hand to what it was doing before, stroking and twisting up his friend’s cock—gripping harder at the head to squeeze out all the drips. He wasn’t lying when he said he hadn’t wanted to act on anything with another man before Castiel—but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t daydreamed about it … thinking about how his fingers might work around another man’s dick. It’s was all that mental practice, Dean thinks, that is making him so comfortable with it now—the movements, seeming like second nature, even though they are truly foreign from what he’s been doing to himself since he was thirteen.

            “ _Dean_ … something is happening …”

            Castiel’s words make him pause a moment, only to resume when he takes in the wrecked expression on the guy’s face. “Yeah … that’s supposed to happen, man … just go with it.”

            “It’s too intense, Dean!” Castiel gasps, twisting his head back so hard, he’s practically staring at the headboard.

            “ _Shh_ …” Dean soothes, moving his free hand up a little so it’s flat under Cas’s neck. He begins to massage the angel’s straining muscles, easing him until he’s finally laying flat again. “Focus on me, okay? I got you .”

            “But, Dean!”

            “I got you, Cas. Just like always … I’m not leaving.”

            The angel’s head snaps to look at him, his mouth open like he wants to protest again, but he stops as their eyes lock and Dean smiles once more.

            “It’s okay … just let go. You aren’t going to hurt anything if you do. _Let go_ , Cas.”

            The blue twists and shakes before finally disappearing beneath squinted lids—and Dean feels Castiel expand in his hand. The walls of the trailer start to shake as he speeds up his strokes. Dean bites his tongue, a little flutter in the back of his mind making him just _slightly_ nervous about how this all is going to end. But the flutter is just a memory when the feeling of light, soft feathers begin to brush along his back—soon, enveloping him like a cool sheet on a summer night. He wants to ask what was happening, but he knows Cas is too close and he would feel like an ass for stopping it now. So Dean continues, pumping his fist up and down in long, smooth strokes—the world around him getting a few shades darker as Cas’s wings close overhead … at least, he’s pretty sure that’s what’s going on.

            “Dean!” Cas gasps, reaching out to clutch onto Dean’s thigh—so hard, it makes him wince.

            “I’m still here, Cas … _I’m still here_ ” he whispers, trying not to let the pain inch into his voice.

            The confirmation seems to be what he needs, because Cas is soon spilling out over Dean’s hand, and all over the inside of his own boxers—the walls of the trailers creak and crack and Dean’s ears ring with the sheer pressure that seems to be filling the room. But then Castiel’s wings press down, acting like a wall between the chaos and their bodies, instantly muting the hum. He’s not sure why, but now Dean’s also breathing heavily—the only sound in their little bubble of invisible feathers and grace.

            “Jesus Christ … that was … _crazy_ ” he grunts, eyes wide as he looks his friend over.

            The angel only stares upwards, nodding a little as he gasps with each remaining twitch of his body.

            “But, at least the world is still intact” Dean finally laughs, freeing his hand from Castiel’s boxers but avoiding looking at its messy state—he’s not quite sure if he’s ready to see himself covered in man-juice yet. He’s not a fan of bodily fluids in general, so … he supposes he’ll work his way up to coping with it.

            “I can’t … say as much … for the trailer …” Castiel wheezes, and with that, Dean finally looks up—noticing that they are still sitting on the bed, but now in the middle of a studio set—no longer protected by the thin, tin walls that surrounded them before. Those are in shards on the ground—some blasted a hundred yards back.

            “Holy shit!” Dean barks, shooting upright so he’s standing up on the mattress—he stumbles a bit as the angel’s body dips down against his ankles. “Cas … _you blew this shit up!_ You’re like an episode of Mythbusters!” Dean’s not sure if he’s impressed or terrified, but soon—he’s just embarrassed because he’s standing straight up, naked on a bed—exposed to the world—with a half naked angel just below him. He quickly drops back down and tries to hide himself behind Cas’s body. “ _Uh_ … Cas … can you please zap us somewhere with walls and a door? I’m not a big fan of showing the world the full monty.”

            “The fully monty?” Castiel asks, finally seeming a little calmer after his release.

            “I’ll explain later … just get us out of here!”

            Dean no sooner finishes his request when he finds himself in the bathroom of a very nice hotel—all marble and glass—glimmering and shiny and clean. He looks down at himself and finds that he’s still naked, and his hand is still rather sticky—grimacing at the contrast.

            “ _Um_ … alright. Well, this is better” he says, looking over his shoulder to see Cas—also in the same state of undress as he was before.

            “Yes, I know how much you enjoy clean spaces, so I picked a hotel that is known for it’s impeccable sanitation.”

            Dean laughs, looking once more over every pristine surface. “Yeah … good choice, but _um_ …” He peeks back at his dirty hand and then raises his brows to the angel. “You didn’t think _I_ might like to be clean as well?”

            Cas cocks his head to the side—and once again, Dean thinks he’s silently being called a moron in Enochian. “That is why I placed us in the bathroom, Dean. I figured you might want to wash up.”

            The giant, duel headed glass shower stood off to their left and Dean glances at it with a smile. “You must know me pretty well” he huffs, looking back to his friend after another moment.

            “Like I said before, I’ve watched you for years.”

            Dean chooses not to comment this time, instead, reaching out to pull Cas in close with his still-clean hand. “Well then … you should _also_ know, I enjoy having company in the shower.”

            Castiel smiles, eyes lighting up with a brilliance that dims all the shine that surrounds them. “That’s why I placed myself in here with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know I am taking a long time to update this fic, and that the pace of the plot is slower than I normally make it; but I knew I wouldn't be as active with the story as I have been with others, so I am trying to make each chapter almost like an ending. So, if this is all someone ever reads, than they will feel content, but if they want to keep up with the fic, then they can be assured that there will be more. In any event, I'm just asking you all bare with me. Life is very hectic right now, but I'm not one of those who forget about my work. I will update it regularly -- "regularly" just might mean every few weeks. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, y'all!

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr at castiel-left-his-mark-on-me
> 
> Check out the rest of my Ao3 for more Cockles and Destiel fun!


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